


Focus On Me

by PeaceAndLongLife



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Best Friend Foggy To The Rescue, Bubble Bath, Foggy Time, Gen, Graphic Depictions of Wounds, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Light Humour beacuse I cant write anything serious, M/M, Mr. & Mr. Quakers, Naked Nurse Foggy, Pre-Slash, poor matt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-30
Updated: 2017-08-30
Packaged: 2018-12-21 14:20:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11946072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeaceAndLongLife/pseuds/PeaceAndLongLife
Summary: Foggy does things for other people, so when he decides to take a bath, it isn't a surprise that he won't be alone for long.(AKA: The abundant, self-indulgent ramblings of an author desperately trying to validate their need to write Foggy having a bubble bath by crafting a plot.)





	Focus On Me

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not gonna lie, this completely got away from me.

   Foggy was a selfless man. He always put others before himself; choosing to devote his spare time to the cases he took on with no expectation of payment. He was also adept in maintaining the well-being of those around him, even when his own sanity was on the verge of crumbling down.

   This innate trait was also what prompted such an opposed opinion on the news of Daredevil's identity in the first place, but over time his view began to change. For Matt, Daredevil  _was_ his sanity, it was such a deeply ingrained part of his being that it was cruel to expect him to deny such an instinctual persona. It was a bizarre coping mechanism for his traumatizing childhood and what kind of best friend would Foggy be if he didn't support his decision?

It wasn't long after that that he signed up for a first-aid course. He didn't just take the standard first-aid course, - you know, the basic résumé crowd pleaser - but in typical Foggy fashion, he took the advanced, eighty-hour course. For Matt.

   It was in the dingy community buildings basement that Foggy proudly received his certificate in a short and intimate graduation ceremony. Karen and Matt made sure to sit front and centre in the metal fold out chairs. Out of the dozen or so participants, Foggy, by far, received the loudest applause...and a few gracious catcalls courtesy of the finest secretary in all the Hell's Kitchen area.

   And just like any other typical community organized event, it was followed immediately by a complimentary luncheon of various supermarket meat and veggie platters. Matt got to take home the leftovers, but that was only because the able-bodied instructor felt guilty about his blindness. It didn't make any sense, but who were they to deny free food? Lord knows they could use it.

   The next step in Foggy's ' _Help: My Best Friend Is A Vigilante!'_ handbook was to stock his apartment as if it were a tiny little hospital. Claire helped immensely with this process; she was relieved and grateful that Matt would finally have greater access to immediate medical help instead of just bleeding out in a dumpster (Foggy had learnt that  _that_ was a thing).

   Of course, Foggy was no medically trained professional but it made a world of difference to a stubborn guy in a costume with devil horns that refused to go to the hospital. Claire did - thankfully - fill Foggy in on some very Daredevil specific injuries that weren't covered in his course, such as; how to safely extract throwing stars from human flesh for when your blind idiot decides to take on a cult of highly-trained ninjas. Solution: Check if your idiot is going to live if so, take a quick second to praise the almighty God that they can still move and smack them upside the head for almost dying. Now  _that_  waspriceless knowledge.

   After all this; all the time and energy he had sacrificed, Foggy more than deserved a break.

   So when Foggy does finally decide to pamper himself, he goes all out. With one extra large pizza - extra toppings - from the high-end pizzeria around the block, a six pack of locally brewed speciality beer, enough 80's action movies to last through the night and an unopened bottle of unscented bubble bath, life was good.

   Oddly enough, it wasn't the pizza, Foggy was most ecstatic about, it was the bubble bath. Okay, not exactly the bubble bath itself, but what it entailed; a bath.

   Currently Foggy was a VIP member in  _The Elite Group Of Those Who Have Never Bathed In Their Adult Life_. It wasn't that he was against baths per se, he had just never got around to having one. In fact, it was the vintage claw footed bathtub that originally prompted Foggy to fall in love with his apartment all those years ago.

   So now, Foggy was sprawled across his couch, the springs squeaking as he shifted his weight to reach for a fourth beer.  _Top Gun_ was nearing the end and so was his pizza, which had long since gone cold. He didn't mind though.

   It wasn't late by any means, but Foggy was already being to feel the trance-like effects of exhaustion from the gruelling week starting to catch up to him. If he had already successfully fought it off this long, he could go a few more hours.

   Not long after, the credits begin to roll and Foggy lazily pulls himself off of the couch. On his way to the bathroom, he accidentally kicks over a few empty cans that clang loudly as they scatter across the hard, cold floor.

   Foggy switches on the bathroom light and the fluorescent lights started to slowly blind him as they warmed up to full brightness. It most definitely not the most ideal setting to have a relaxing bath, and that  _wasn't_  including that persistent low hum they emitted that was just barely audible yet somehow it would fester under your skin and in the back of your mind until you went mad.

   He really should have bought some candles.

  Now that he actively aware and listening for the hum, Foggy immediately switched them off. His phone had a flashlight, that could work, right?

   He pulls out his phone and turns on the light. He then sets it down on the floor, face down, the light projecting on the ceiling and bathing the room in a soft, ominous glow. In this scenario, ominous was the more appealing option.

   Foggy looks contemplatively down at his cheap creased suit that he hadn't bothered to change out of, at the empty bath and then back again. What was he supposed to do first? Get naked and thenrun the bath,  _or_  run the bath and then get naked?

   It was a classic example of 'which comes first?' The chicken or the egg? The milk or the cereal? The left leg or the right leg? These were the hard-hitting life questions. The ones where only one answer is socially acceptable and all others are shunned into silent exile.

   Foggy waits till the bath was half full and frothing with bubbles before he steps in. That was a mistake because it was freezing, so he turns the temperate up. The next thing he knows, it's scalding, but just as the tub was nearing capacity the temperature decides to cooperate. Who knew bathing would turn into such a Goldilocks scenario? A bath certainly would've made more sense than personifying bears that sleep in beds and live in houses and make porridge for breakfast.

   With the water now off, there was nothing but dead silence. It was eerie, he wasn't used to it growing up in Hell's Kitchen. There were no wailing sirens or traffic racing past his building or the dull throb of bass emanating from a particularly loud party, no unexpected explosions and there were no gunshots ringing out into the night. Foggy was grateful for those two, especially knowing for a fact that Daredevil would be out prowling the streets right about now.

   So as a distraction for the lack of distractions, Foggy closes his eyes and turns his undivided attention to himself. He'd focus on his breathing, a deep breath in and a long exhale out. He notices the way his chest expands as his diaphragm contracts and his lungs fill with oxygen.

   Foggy pays special attention the rhythmic beating of his heart and how it began to slow as his body starts to relax under the comforting warm water. If he focused long and hard enough he could almost convince himself that he could hear his heartbeat with his own ears. It was baffling, to say the least, that Matt had the ability to hear and then  _identify_ it as him from miles away if he so chose to, and  _then_  to be able to tell if someone was lying by noting the subtle rhythmic changes? It was insane. Foggy still had a hard time wrapping his head around that whole ordeal, but he wasn't as bothered by it now as when he first found out. That was just who Matt was, he couldn't shut it off and he had to accept that.

   Foggy opens his eyes and sighs. No, no thoughts about Matt, this was strictly Foggy time. Foggy and a non-existent rubber duck that he adds it to his equally imaginary list of things he should have purchased. He ponders what the cashier would think if he just went out the next day and bought several dozen candles and a rubber duck. Whatever the reaction, he would definitively find out tomorrow.

   It had to be the bubbles that were making him nostalgic for his childhood duck, Mr. Quakers. Maybe he'd name his new duck Mrs. Quakers in his honour, but now that Foggy thinks about it, he was pretty sure Mr. Quakers would've preferred a companion of the male variety. He'd name his new duck Mr. Quakers, but you know, the  _other_ Mr. Quakers.

   Foggy laughs out loud at the ridiculous thought, the sound echoing ever so lightly against the bare walls. This still doesn't stop his mind from wandering further and questioning what  _really_ happened to his imaginary friend, Larry.

   Eventually, his rampant thoughts begin to dampen and gradually lull him to a dreamless sleep.

 

**•••**

 

   It was a large crash that startled Foggy awake. The water in the bath had turned cold and his skin seemed to take on the appearance of a very large white raisin. There was another crash, and then the bathroom door bursts open.

   "Matt?" Foggy takes a shot in the dark, literally, because his phones flashlight was no longer on, it must have died.

   He wonders how long he'd been sleeping. It was still dark outside and the moon was now very faintly shining through the open bathroom door. It backlit the man, giving him a glowing outline. 

   "Foggy? Is that you? Are you in here?" The voice was unmistakably Matt's, and he sounded panicked and scared. It was unusual and deeply worrying. How come he couldn't tell Foggy was right there?

   "Matt, Buddy, are you okay? Just give me one second." Foggy steps out of the bath, dripping water on the floor and carefully walking towards the light switch with the little light provided. He switches it on and it takes a few seconds for his eyes to adjust to the brightness.

   Matt had since fallen to his knees on the floor. His daredevil suit had been aggressively slashed stained in blood, and from the looks of it, it seemed to be mostly his. It was a horrible sight to see. In Matt's hand was his mask, which revealed to potentially worst injury of all; his ears and how they were profusely bleeding.

   Foggy drops down beside his friend and grabs the first aid kit under the bathroom sink. "What happened?"

   "There was some kind of ultrasonic bomb and I- I can barely hear anything over all this...ringing." His voices cracks as he helplessly whimpers "I can't hear, Foggy."

   Foggy could feel his chest tighten and throat constrict in the telltale sign of oncoming tears. He takes Matt's hand for comfort, for whose, he wasn't sure. "It's okay. Everything is going to be alright. Do you want me to call Claire?"

  "No!" He exclaims in a sudden wave of panic. "Please....that won't be necessary."

   "Okay, okay! I won't." Foggy replies quickly. He could help Matt, couldn't he? Most of the wounds seemed manageable, but his hearing was what really had Foggy worried. He'd love a second, professional opinion but if Matt was certain, he could trust him.

   Matt chokes back his own tears in distress. "Thank you."

   "What are best friends for, huh?" Foggy pats him gently on an unharmed section of thigh. By now a few persistent tears had escaped his eyes, blurring his vision greatly. He had to wipe them away with the back of his hand to see what he was digging through in his well-used first-aid kit.

   Foggy sets out his conveniently recently purchased gauze and alcohol swabs and looks back at Matt. He couldn't possibly bandage all his wounds with his suit still on. "Matt, do you think you can take off your suit?"

   "Yeah, just...give me a sec." Matt carefully shifts his body so he was no longer sitting on his legs and that they were out in front of him, revealing even more open wounds. Thankfully, most were only superficial, the others though would no doubt require stitches. Foggy hated giving stitches.

   Damn, did he slip in a knife factory? He wouldn't put it past him.

   Matt reaches back over his shoulder, grimacing as he agitated his injuries further. "Here, let me do that for you." Foggy moves behind him, trying to locate what he was reaching for but failing miserably. "Umm...a little help?"

   Foggy begins to feel Matt convulse, immediately an indescribable fear paralyzes his movements. Then he heard the last thing he was expecting, a laugh. Matt was laughing. Matt was okay. "There's a zipper, Fogs."

   "I don't see one."

   Matt laughs again, but this time a little too hard. He doubles over, clutching his ribs. "I'm okay." He croaks and dares to laugh once more. That devil. "It's not supposed to be visible. I'd ruin my aesthetic."

   "And what? Your horns don't?"

   Matt sighs patiently. "Just...feel for it."

   Foggy bites his bottom lip, hands hovering over his back. He was scared to touch him, he looked so fragile, despite knowing quite the contrary. But he sucks up his hesitance and presses his fingertips against Matt's shoulder blades at first, then methodically exploring till he feels the cool metal of a zipper. Foggy leans in close -finger on the zipper for a reference point- and is baffled when he still couldn't see it. It was sorcery, it had to be.

   Foggy follows the metal ridge upwards to the base of Matt's neck and carefully begins unzipping. His typically smooth, pale skin was spattered in coagulated blood. Bruises in a varying array of hues covered his flesh like a twisted artists' canvas. "Can you get your arms?" Matt grabs hold of the fabric from Foggy and slips his muscular arms out. The suit piles loosely around his waist, on the floor. It physically pained him to see evidence of just how cruel the world could be.

   "I'm going to try and clean up some of the blood on you now." Foggy stands up before the sink, turning it on and waiting for the water to heat up. In the meantime he reaches for the nearest towel and tosses it on Matt's lap; he jolts in surprise. Oops. "Sorry. I'm not sure what to do for your ears so uh...just press that against them. Maybe it'll stop the bleeding, I don't know. I must have missed the sophisticated weaponry portion of my first-aid training." It was a lousy joke, but Foggy detected a hint of a smile on Matt's lips. It didn't last long though.

   Matt picks up the towel and blindly wipes up the blood that has trickled down his neck before unfolding it and wrapping the towel around the back of his head so he could apply pressure to both his ears. "I feel trapped without all the noise. I-I can't hear your heartbeat Foggy."

   Foggy grabs a washcloth and tosses it under the running tap. "Would this help?" He bends down and takes Matt's hand, the towel falling from his right ear. Foggy presses Matt's hand against his bare chest.

   Matt's eyes close and fingers sprawl as he leans unknowingly into the contact. He breathes out, grounding himself to the familiar pattern of Foggy's heartbeat, except this time it was abnormally fast-paced. This concerned Matt. "Are you alright?"

   Foggy chuckles awkwardly. "Besides being freaked out of my damn mind? Yeah, I think I'm alright." 

   "I don't mean to worry you." Matt mumbles. "I shouldn't be your problem."

   "You're not a problem, but you are mine." He was surprised as the words slipped so effortlessly from of his mouth, and even more surprised that he meant them, wholeheartedly.

   Matt exhales awkwardly. "Thanks. I-I think I'm good now."

   Foggy stands back up and turns off the sink. He picks up the washcloth lying at the bottom and wrings it out. "Warm washcloth incoming." He warns before dropping to his knees once again.

   He starts by gently working off the dried blood - avoiding the forming scabs, no matter how bad his inner child wanted to pick at them-, then moving onto the wounds that were still bleeding with an alternating pattern of pressure and wiping away excess blood. While tending the smaller problems, Foggy takes mental notes of all the cuts that needed stitches and a quick ocular once over for any visually dislocated joints or broken bones. He'd have to do a closer examination later but from what he could see Matt was clear on those fronts.

   Foggy finishes up Matt's back and then realizes he has to clean up his chest next. He shuffles over to his front. "I'm just, uh...just gonna put my legs on either side of yours so I can get all this-" Foggy gestures to his chest in a circular motion. Even without his super senses, Matt had no problem deducing what he was motioning. They'd been best friends for  _years,_  after all.

   The position wasn't quite as awkward as Foggy thought it would be, he was more focused on getting Matt looked after. At one point he got tired enough holding himself up in one solitary position -he may be thinner than he was in college, but he certainly wasn't more in shape- that he just leant forward and rested his forehead against Matt's for a few moments.

   All in all, Foggy almostforgot that he was basically hover straddling Matt - he didn't want to hurt him or have certain...bare parts touching. Oddly enough, straddling Matt was something Foggy only dreamed of, you know, in his actual dreams, at night. Besides, what kind of person  _hasn't_ had that one recurring dream about themselves and their best friend in explicitly compromising situations?

  There was potentially the worst slash that started at Matt's left collar bone and went all the way down to his nipple. He had to get out the tweezers from his first aid kit and individually remove each small, embedded rock. It was tedious work but it needed to be done. It'd definitely be the first one he'd stitch up after.

   Foggy's white cloth now looked like a horror movie prop by the time he could confidently move on from his chest.

   Those design magazines that Foggy definitely does not read were wrong. White linens were neither practical nor fashionable. They clashed with his whole 'broke, in debt, dirty, New Yorker' decor going on. Except it wasn't really decor, it was more of an inescapable lifestyle.

   Foggy hobble out of Matt's personal space only to kick off the most invasive part yet. There was really only one way to say it and that was to just say it. "Are you able you lift your butt for me? I can slide off the rest of your costume for you."

   "Yeah, I can."

   "Good. 3...2...-"  _Please be wearing underwear. Please be wearing underwear._ Oh,  _thank God_. One naked man was more than enough and two would be just hard to explain. He tosses the suit in the corner.

   Foggy politely averts his eyes from straying too low, even though he knows he would be able to get away with a quick glance. He didn't necessarily  _want_ to see anything, it was just the thrill of curiosity that tempted him. Was he still wearing that brand of laughably expensive underwear that was strictly made on the third Tuesday of every fourth month in some remote desert in Egypt by a seamstress that had bore a Gemini child under a full moon or some other entitled bull along those lines. Foggy had to admit that they had been ridiculously soft, just not   _'I-could-have-paid-for-three-months-tuition-instead'_ soft _._

   Foggy examines Matt's outstretched legs. They're mostly unscathed cut wise, but there were a few nasty looking bruises that could probably benefit from some ice. He'd have to go make some though, buying pre-frozen water was not a luxury he often divulged in.

   "You're doing great buddy," Foggy says out loud to no one in particular as he wrestles with a stubborn splotch of dried blood. "I'm almost done here and then we can move onto stitching you back up."

   Matt nods. His bottom lip was caught between his teeth in an anxious manner. It wasn't about the stitches, Foggy easily deduces, he'd had enough of them that they were just to be expected as part of his daily routine. No, it had to be something else.

   Matt was leaning slightly forward. His arms were stretched, fists clenching and unclenching on the floor, reaching, needing, clinging for something that was just out of reach.

   Oh.  _Oh._

   Foggy knew what was happening, he'd seen it play out hundreds of times. Matt was fighting the age-old war on himself. It was a twisted, self-destructive reality of his, where he wouldn't permit himself what he deserves or sometimes, what he desperately needs.

   He was fighting hard against the compulsion to touch Foggy, to feel his best friends heart thrum rhythmically under his sensitive fingertips.

   Matt had already admitted it once. Admitting it a second time would make it a weakness and Matt doesn't have weaknesses.

   Foggy tosses the bloody cloth in the sink and sighs. "My hearts not getting any closer you know."

   There was a flush of pink across the bridge of Matt's nose. He shouldn't be surprised that Foggy knew him so well. Matt lifts up his hand blindly for Foggy to place on his chest, but instead Foggy takes his two fingers and curls them around his left wrist, directly on top of his pulse point where the beat was the strongest.

  Foggy lets go of him and Matt's grip tightens instinctively around his wrist. "Hey, hey. It's okay, I'm not going anywhere. I'm just grabbing some supplies. Hold on for as long as you need to, just know that I'll be needing both hands in just a moment." Matt doesn't answer; If he didn't he'd be acknowledging his own fault.

   Foggy pulls the first aid kit closer. He digs around for the sterile needle he knew he saw earlier that evening, a pair of surgical scissors and wire thread. He'd tried using the regular suture thread on Matt before but he'd always end up snapping the thread and reopening the wound with the amount of physical excursion and strain he'd put on it.

   He somehow unravels a generous amount of wire and snips it with only a single hand. The next part wouldn't be so easy. "I need to thread the needle now, okay?" There was still no verbal answer but Matt does reluctantly relieve his grip. "Thank you."

   Foggy turns to the kit and right beside the needle were a pair of latex-free gloves. He'd been such a mess when Matt came in that the thought never crossed his mind. He grabs the gloves and slips them on. Better late than never.

   He rips open the individually packaged needle and pulls it out. It takes him a few frustrated attempts to get the wire threaded and even more attempts to knot the end. It was no wonder he became a lawyer, he was never very good with his hands.

   "I've got everything ready. I'm going to start off with the gash on your chest. My hands will touch you first and then I'll tell you before I start, okay?"

   "Okay," Matt whispers. He was no doubt mentally scolding himself for his lack of emotional control.

   Foggy's fingers gently brush over Matt's shoulders, across his collar bone and up to his cheek. "Stop punishing yourself." He cradles his chin. "I mean it." If Matt could see his face right now his words might have had more impact. He does a stern face anyway.

   "You're too good to me, Fogs."

   "You won't be saying that in a bit. I'm going to start now."

   Matt takes a deep breath and Foggy presses the point of the needle to Matt's skin. Without much pressure, the needle pierces cleanly through the skin. He points the needle in and upwards. Foggy flinches at the sight of the skin stretching and creating a raised peak before it gives way and the metal breaks through yet again. He pulls the wire taught.

   He really hated giving stitches.

   It doesn't take long for him to tie off the word and snip the end. One done, several million left.

   For the next half, an hour Foggy's life consists of nothing more than tie, pull, tie, snip, repeat. It was an action he never expected or wished to become monotonous but it had.

   Foggy slips off his gloves and throws them towards the trash can. He misses. "Alright, you're finally done. I'm just going to go get you some clothes okay? I won't be long and I promise to come back and help you into my bed. And before you protest, the couch is not an option for you."

   Foggy kisses the top of Matt's head and noticed that his ears had stopped bleeding. That had to be a good sign.

   He exits the bathroom and is immediately hit with the combined chill of the night and his lack of clothing. Foggy scurries to his room and begins digging deep in his drawers for his old, worn Columbia sweat-shirt. Well, technically it used to be Matt's but let's not inform the blind guy that his best friend mooched his sweat-shirt all those years ago.

   Foggy also picks out a pair of sweatpants that had sadly shrunken the first time he threw them a wash. It was a shame really, they were like two clouds were gently hugging your legs.

   With that set-aside, Foggy finally dresses himself in an array of items picked up off the floor and heads back to Matt.

   Foggy squats down. "I've got some clothes here. If you prefer I can give you some privacy." He sets the folded clothing on the floor and guides Matt's hand over top of them.

   "Privacy is usually given during the removal of clothes. Besides, I might...uh, need some...assistance..." Matt averts his head from the general direction of Foggy.

   Foggy chooses not to comment on his request and instead, jumps straight to the assisting. "I'm going to need you to lift up your arms, slowly. We don't want you agitating the stitches." Matt obliges and Foggy carefully slips his arms through the sleeves and over his head. Matt un-subtlety pulls the collar back over his nose and inhales deeply. His eyes flutter closed and he does it again, only longer. The sweatshirt no doubt smelt like Foggy. Whatever it is Foggy smelt like; probably something along the lines of burnt coffee, stale bagels and maybe sweat because really, who was he kidding?

   "Good, we're almost there. Just lift your butt when I tell you too." Foggy picks up the pants. He bunches up the fabric of the legs so it was easier to slide on. "3, 2, 1, lift!" Matt thrusts his pelvis upwards, face scrunching up in discomfort as Foggy expertly pulls the waistband up and over. The elastic snaps back into place low on Matt's hips.

   "Let's get you to bed." Foggy stands, pulling Matt up with him. Matt sways and Foggy steadies him with the first thing that comes to mind, a hug. It surprises Matt, of course, it did, he wasn't used to not knowing everyone's next move before they themselves did.

   Neither knew they needed the hug as much as they did. They stood there for who knows how long, clutching to each other with desperation. Matt's head was curved delicately into his neck -Foggy doesn't mention how his ear is pressed against his carotid artery- his nails scratching Foggy's back as he tightens his grip on his t-shirt.

   They didn't know the exact moment it started but as Foggy pulled away in, his exhausting finally setting in, they were both crying. Foggy breaths out, he probably looked like an utter mess. "You good?"

   Matt quickly wipes away his tears. He pulls his trademark  _I-have-no-emotions_ expressionless expression _._ "Yeah."

   "Look at me, I'm even too tired to argue with that statement." Foggy forces a laugh. He rights Matt so he was facing the door and wraps his arm around his waist. "We've got about three steps till we're out of the bathroom-" they take the steps. "-now, there's about...six? steps forward..turn left here...yes...four steps...turn right-" Foggy continues navigating them till they were standing at the foot of Foggy's bed. He leaves Matt for a moment so he could pull the bedsheets back.

   "Well, we're here. I'm sure you know how to tuck yourself in. I'll just be on the couch so if you need anything so don't be afraid to shout my name. Preferably in rapid succession and in ecstasy; maybe that'll finally get Mrs. Martinez off my back about settling down with a nice lady. For multiple reasons. Ya know, because you're obviously a man, and she'd think we're having sex, most likely making the assumption that we're in a serious relationship because people still don't sleep willy-nilly these days." Foggy didn't really know what he was saying anymore, he was rambling. All those sleepless nights spent working were beginning to catch up to him, and quickly.

   "Foggy." Matt cuts him off before he had time to start back up. When he gets Foggy's full attention he has to hold back his smile. "Will do."

   Foggy was not expecting that answer. "Oh. Um. Okay then." He scratches the back of his neck. "I'm gonna go..."

   "Foggy!" Matt yelp his name, much louder than before. He seems genuinely surprised about his outburst.

   "Yes?"

   "Don't go." He whispers as if the words physically hurt to say. Knowing him they probably did.

   "I'm not going anywhere...I'm just in the other room."

   "Stay here. With me. Please."

   Foggy silently agrees as he crawls into his bed beside Matt. It wasn't the first time, they'd shared a bed before on several occasions but that was way back in college. Somehow it felt different now, more intimate.

   Matt reaches for him under the warmth of the covers and Foggy lets him.

   Matt entangles his limbs with Foggy's.

   Matt kisses him gently on the mouth.

   Foggy lets him.

**•••**

 

   Matt woke up in the morning in significantly better shape. After a quick self-examination, his stitches were still unharmed, nothing looked infected and most importantly, his hearing had slowly, but surely begun to return, he still couldn't hear Foggy's heartbeat but he could manoeuvre himself with ease around Foggy's apartment. (It wasn't much since he practically had the place permanently etched into his mind but it was progress, okay?)

   Despite his body's fierce protest, Foggy had gotten up early - even earlier than on work days, Matt was a proud early riser - enough to make breakfast for the both of them. The only thing he had the ingredients for - and in his skill range - were pancakes.

   Matt drawls into the kitchen, all sleepy-eyed with his bed head that really just looked like sex-hair and Foggy almost swoons with a full plate of hot pancakes.

   He wants to properly lecture Matt, to get angry and lay into him about his carelessness and all-around stupidity but his mind would only offer up the memory of Matt kissing him. He wonders what would've transpired if he hadn't passed out from exhaustion right then and there.

   Foggy doesn't have to wonder long. He'd go as far as Matt went, he'd do anything Matt wanted. But right now, Foggy wanted to kiss Matt so he does.

   Foggy sets the glass plate down on the counter with a clang and probably a little too much gusto. Matt jumps and Foggy smiles. This was happening. He never expected things to turn out this way, but they had and he'd roll with it, see where it takes him.

   He takes Matt's head in his hands and crashes his lips to his best friend's. He hadn't kissed anyone in a while but he was positive that those kisses didn't feel like this. There was a nervous energy deep in Foggy's abdomen, it was something he'd only felt once before when they quit Landman & Zack.

   Matt's lips were chapped and hot from the pillow but they felt so good under Foggy's.

   Foggy doesn't go further than the press of lips in fear his brain might implode and his heart short-circuit. "I made pancakes." He says as his hands drop from Matt's hair -they had made their way there at some point.

   "Yum." Matt tenderly licks his lips.

   Neither of them brought up the sudden influx of kissing and that was okay. It didn't need to be discussed quite yet.

 

**•••**

 

   Later, after they both had filled up on their share of cake from a pan, Matt suddenly stills in his chair.

   "Matt?" Foggy has his hands on the table, ready to get up at a moments notice.

   "I climbed through your window last night. I couldn't find you anywhere, the bathroom was the last place I looked." Matt explains deep in thought. He had a dazed, far off look. Well, even more than usual. "I came in and collapsed. I heard water move as you called my name. You immediately came to my aid."

   "Uh-huh..." Foggy was confused. Where was this going? Was he just going to recount the whole night in some weird trance? He knew this stuff, he was there after all.

   "You were having a bath." Matt deduces. His attention snaps to Foggy with such intensity he almost fell off his chair. "You didn't have time to get dressed. You were naked. Oh my gosh, You were naked the whole time, Foggy!" He was in hysterics by now.

   "Small detail." Foggy waves his hand nonchalantly but really he was eyeing the last remaining pancake and questioning if he was really  _that_ full.

   He ends up eating the pancake anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed this as much as I enjoyed writing it.
> 
> If you have any prompts I'd GLADLY accept them.  
> (www.peaceandlonglife.tumbr.com)


End file.
